Rose In a Tulip Garden
by Kurissss
Summary: Jagan. The performing and visual arts industry is a cold and cruel one. When a young painter gains knowledge about his past, he'll be dragged into a game which risks him losing everything. Will he be able to play? AU
1. Chapter 1

Hello. This has been going in and out of my mind for a few months, and now I just started writing it and you know that flowy-thingy? No? Okay. It's fine.

This pairing... is my second favourite. It is my first time writing long story slash, so reviews are welcome.

Warnings: This is Jagan. Which means it is slash. Male on male. Gay romance. If you do not like Jagan, or slash in general, please leave.

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush. I only own my ideas and some other characters I created out of my own imagination. This is pretty long so I didn't know what to cut out and stuff so please, please feedback, especially on the characters of Kendall and James. Logan too, if you will.

This is dedicated to RedVelvetRusher (Twitter, duh) because if it wasn't for her and her curiosity/urge/push/inspiration/help/all of the above, I wouldn't have published this. Love ya, Jade!

_Constructive criticism will be accepted wholeheartedly._

Enjoy. :)

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><p>The moment he went on stage, Logan's lips parted slightly and he almost let out an inaudible gasp. The lights flickered for a brief moment before eventually focussing on the dancer on stage, who was adorned in a silvery white leotard, with a mask that hid his identity. He moved with ease, elegance gracing his every movement, along to the angsty melodious tune.<p>

Logan's chocolate brown eyes moved along the stage, keeping track of the soloist as he swayed and synchronised with each note. The other dancers, about fifteen or so, appeared, gathering around him as though they were desperate to get rid of him. The sea of grey and black hands reached out to him like tips of flames that occasionally lick whatever was in their way, and the main dancer appeared to be frantic, throwing waves of arms after arms off of him. His attempts seemed futile, the dancer in white slowly crouching in fear, hands up to shield...

His hair. Logan was not sure whether or not he was imagining the gesture. Weird.

Before he could muse about it any further, the music came to a sudden halt, and at the same time the dancers fell dramatically to the ground in a pattern, leaving behind the soloist, who was now adorned in black. His mask was off, revealing his flawlessness that would put beauty to shame. He slowly looked up at Logan's general direction, seeing as the brunette in the audience had sat at the focal point of the seatings, a smirk slowly forming. He stood and looked at the crowd, eyes locking with Logan's before the stage was covered by the curtains in haste, falling from the sides to meet and the instrumental eventually halting. The lights in the theatre slowly illuminated which signalled the end of the performance.

Logan blinked. Did that really happen? He seemed to be swimming in his own thoughts at the given moment, finally remembering how to breathe properly. Finally, he looked over to his side, expecting to see his companion sleeping and snuggling into his blazer.

Only he didn't. He was instead met with a pair of mischievous bottle green eyes staring at him. They were face to face, their noses almost touching. He felt his steady breathing ghosting over the top of his mouth, and eventually he squeaked, tumbling back to his seat in haste.

"Kendall!" he scolded. The blond snickered in response. His current position was one that Logan would scoff at; his hands were over the laminated wooden armrest and his fingers were curling over the edge. The man was kneeling on the cushioned seat. It would be a sight to take in if it wasn't for Logan's slight irritation at him.

"Oh, Logan, you always have the slowest reactions," he said, as though he was reminicising a fond memory between two old lovers. Logan scoffed.

"I was expecting you to be asleep, dumbo," he half-heartedly retorted, shaking his head as the blond laughed. He swung his legs off of the seat, spinning a bit before standing in front of the brunette and was towering over him by a few inches.

"Well, I was watching your reactions to the show," he confessed, his green irises staring down at Logan. "You were so into the performance, the faces you made were animated. Something I'd see from a cartoon...," he paused for a while, tapping his chin like he was in deep thought. He brought his hand back and snapped his fingers. "Spongebob!"

The whole time Kendall was explaining his theories of cartoons and comparison, Logan watched him with half-lidded eyes, an upturned mouth and clearly, the artist was not impressed. The blond chuckled, poking his barely made up dimple on the side of his face.

"Just like that," he said playfully, quickly stepping back when Logan slapped at him. He grumbled a bit before proceeding to the exit, getting ahead of Kendall.

"Naww, Logie, you don't like me no more?" his friend pouted, and it only made the brunette walk faster up the wide steps towards the heavy doors that were held open by the ushers. He made a 'hmph' sound over his shoulder, and if anyone else had seen it, they would have thought that the two men were acting like 8-year-olds.

Kendall eventually fell into step with Logan and their walk was accompanied by silence, save for the chatter from the audience that dispersed into their respective families or friends. They passed the doors and into the lobby, where it was crowded enough that one could squeeze his way through.

Despite his initial annoyance towards the blond, Logan looked back at Kendall. He folded his arms across his chest and huffed at him.

"Well then," he started. Kendall pursed his lips at first but it broke into a smile.

"See them up there? Your masterpieces," he said, wrapping an arm around Logan's shoulders and directing his gaze towards the walls of the lobby. Canvases and framed paintings filled the white washed walls of the theater-like lobby, over staircases and his best artworks were on display around the VIP area. Logan couldn't help but smile with pride. From here, his works were a blur of colours and mellow patterns, but he knew that when people get near them and admire, they would get their own story from the various artworks.

"Aren't you a VIP of this whole thing?" he reminded, turning his wrist downward and finger pointing at the pass that hung over Logan's neck, the little plastic card resting against his shirt. The brunette blinked in response and he brought the pass up to his line of sight, the thin plastic smooth against his fingers. It beared the title in thick letters, VIP pass.

"You're right...," he trailed off. Kendall offered a small smile in return, then walked up to Logan. He placed his hands on his shoulders.

"You need to mingle!" he thus concluded, turning the artist around and pushing him towards the area that was bounded by short metal stands that linked each other with cloth-covered chains. A sign was held up that said, "VIP Area. For VIPs and Production Only."

Logan looked back. "But I don't think I can-"

Kendall shushed him. "It'll be fine! You can go around and eat and drink and mingle. And well, you know, mingle," he finished lamely, finally pushing past the crowd and going through the narrow spaces between them. Logan scowled.

"But I'm only here to make sure my paintings are safe!" he protested, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake Kendall's grip off. "Come on..."

"But you have to enjoy yourself first, Logie," he said, this time with a much gentler tone. "You've been so uptight about your babies lately. Chill out."

"Babies... My paintings are not my babies," Logan said with a huff. "My paintings are-"

"Your children, okay, I get it," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. He nodded quickly, as though it would reassure Logan. He rolled his eyes in response.

"Kendall," he dragged out in exasperation. Then, a moment later, "Fine, I'll enjoy myself."

Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Kendall doing a fist pump and then proceeding to his happy dance. He spun around to face him, effectively cutting off his routine.

"But, you're giving me a ride home," he said with as much seriousness as he could muster. His emphasis made Kendall nod in understanding.

"See you in a bit," he said before a few people walked past him in a blur, his presence disappearing almost completely.

Logan blinked and sighed, grudgingly turning back to the 'VIP area'. Into the center, there was a large round table covered with cream white cloth that was draped over the edges and folded in a way that reminded him of curtains. On the top of it laid an array of different pastries, light snacks and decorations that littered the table, with an over-the-top flower pot in the middle. Its exotic colours and arrangement was what blinded Logan's eye, and it reminded him especially of the dancer on stage.

He stepped towards the refreshments and pulled out a plastic red cup from its stack. Approaching the punch bowl that was situated near the desserts, he gingerly took the ladle sitting slanted against the edge of the bowl. The cool, sleek metal brushed against his fingertips, and he lifted the utensil, pouring it over the empty cup. The initially weightless cup was filled, and Logan replaced the utensil into the bowl. He scanned the area for his artworks and smiled a little with pride. Across him were a few people gathering around his best piece, probably chatting among themselves about the beauty of it. It was a large piece of canvas, its main focus temporarily covered by the group.

"There you are!"

Logan blinked in shock, swiftly turning his head to look for the source of that familiar voice. Kelly.

"Why haven't you met the other VIPs? They have to know that your art is up there!" she berated. Logan merely shrugged.

"I was thinking that maybe you could help me-"

"No, Logan. I'm only your manager. I've already introduced you. Now go," she interrupted, placing her hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him towards the guests. To him, everyone looked the same. As he stepped closer towards the group, his ears picked up what was left off from the conversation.

"Rouque productions, yes, Gustavo Rouque, nice to meet you."

The man who bore the name was plump, bald and he looked mean. With a glare that was clearly conspicuous and directed towards him, Gustavo's beady eyes flitted towards his pass and then, the whole expression changed in one swoop. His eyebrows relaxed, his mouth into an upturned smile and his whole posture changed into a kind one. Logan almost scoffed at the act.

"You must be... Logan Mitchell!" His voice boomed across the echoey lobby, attracting the attention of some guests who were around them. The artist felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment at the sudden load of attention and he felt their sight burning into the back of his head. Breathe, Logan...

"Yes... and you are Gustavo Rouque," he simply stated, mentally running back to the conversation he last heard. The plump man seemed intimidating and cocky. Ugh.

"You must be the artist who agreed to showcase his works here. I am impressed," he said, and Logan took in his attire. Dress shirt, blazer, black tie and black pants. The standard for a formal occasion. He nodded, and Gustavo slapped a big hand on his shoulder, causing him to almost fall over.

"I am the owner of Rouque Productions. It is a pleasure to meet you," he politely said while bringing the artist to the rest of the guests who Gustavo was talking to. An elderly man with a smile that seemed crazy enough to settle for 'beyond repair' and an even older man in a wheelchair was dozing off in the middle of the party. Oh boy.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>It had been the third or fourth time that he had introduced himself, explained his position as an artist, talked about his paintings and where he wants his next exihibition to be at. It was like a cycle and Logan wanted to hit his head against the wall a multiple number of times until he passed out. He didn't mind explaining his passion, no, but sometimes, it was frustrating to have to rewind and repeat. He looked up at the ceiling from underneath his lashes, and muttered, 'save me'.<p>

Eventually, he was left alone. Logan leaned back onto the pillar as he sipped from his cup of now lukewarm punch. Logan made a face in reaction and proceeded to the nearest bin, throwing the plastic cup in one swift motion. He stood back and away from the group of what he called the 'CEO oldies'. Not like he was going to tell them. Kelly would kill him.

"You look a little lost here."

The brunette sighed into his own thoughts, deciding that gazing at the arrangement of the flowers sitting on the table was his best activity to do now. He turned around to leave and tell Kendall he wanted to go home, his paintings can do without his supervision, he feels crappy, he just wants to paint. However, he almost bumped onto a person. Well, almost.

His lips lingered over the fabric of the shirt that hugged ripples of muscle, his breath moist against his lips. He eventually went back a few good steps, eyes widening at the man in front of him.

The first feature he took in was his eyes. Deep, hazel irises reflected against the light in the high ceiling, and they glinted with friendliness that were probably aimed towards him. His nose was perfectly arched and smooth, his lips going from a small smile to a kind of a smirk. His cheeks were slightly flushed and his high cheekbones acentuated his eyes and hair. And the hair. It looked smooth like velvet, soft like silk, and the brownish sandy locks covered part of his left eye and eyebrow. To say that he was mesmerized was a total understatement. He was in awe.

"Hello?" his tone was light and friendly, with a tinge of curiosity to it. His voice was part nasal, deep and sensual, like ocean waves on a perfect summer day.

"I... yeah?" Logan stammered in response, immediately berating himself for scrutinizing his new... companion. What if he noticed?

"Hey," he said, his tone taking on a half flirtatious, half friendly tone. Logan smiled in response.

"Hi," he trailed off, and his new companion seemed to be wearing a white shirt and simple black pants. A thin layer of sweat covered his tanned skin, and it was like he had worked out. Or danced onstage.

Danced onstage. Logan almost squeaked upon the realisation. This living greek god was the dancer onstage.

"You're... You're that dancer," he thought aloud, and the dancer smiled at him.

"Yes I am, and you're really cute," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"I... thank you," he managed. The soloist smiled.

"So you look a little lost here, perhaps I may be useful as to assist you?" he offered. Logan blinked in response.

"Assist me?"

"Yeah, because the food there is awesome," the dancer said, effectively breaking the flirtatious atmosphere. Logan just smiled at his childlike statement.

"I don't really want to-"

"You want to," he said, this time in a deep tone that set the artist's skin off in goosebumps. Momentarily stunned, Logan felt himself being pulled by his hand towards the dining part of the VIP area. They stopped at the edge of the table set, the mysterious companion turning animatedly and looking at him with a smile that reminded Logan of a gleeful child.

"I'm not really hungry, uh-" but his lips were soon hushed as fingers came into contact with them. The soloist's expression was almost haunting, like what Logan said was unacceptable to him.

"Since you are a lost lamb and I have to feed you...," he trailed off, suddenly turning to the table and picking up a food item.

Before the artist could speak, something was shoved into his mouth, fast but gentle. His tongue swirled around the pastry, and he took an experimental bite. Cold cream mixed with a tinge of chocolate attacked his taste buds and the artist eventually chewed on the dessert and swallowed. It tasted... good.

"I know!" chimed the brunette. Logan blinked in confusion.

"These Éclairs are the best ever because you know Steve is the best baker-chef-cook ever and they're nice to eat other than cupcakes and stuff like that yeah," the dancer continued in one breath. The artist chuckled in response.

"You said 'ever' twice," he pointed out. The dancer's head whipped at his direction and the locks of his hair flew elegantly before falling around his face in the right places. Gosh, his hair...

"You bet I did," he replied, that deep, sensual and sexy tone making his heart do somersaults again. Oh, Logan...

"Yeah... Yeah you did," he agreed and the dancer laughed.

"So you liked the performance, mister?" he started, his eyebrows wagging in coordination with his tone. The artist ignored the light flutter in his chest.

"Yes I did. It was a performance that was...," he paused, thinking about the right word, "... mind-blowing."

The brightness in his expression made Logan smile back in response. "Really?"

"I... yeah. Really," Logan affirmed. "The movement, the grace and the performance in general was eye-opening, and the vibrancy along with the emotions are portrayed well."

For a moment, the handsome brunette was stunned. His eyes were twinkling with awe and almost timid, 'I-can't-believe-I'm-hearing-this' expression. Logan resisted chuckling at the childlike glint in his eyes.

"W-wow... Thanks," he stuttered. For what seemed like a few hours, both Logan and the strange individual were in total silence, save for the cacophony of chatter and faint orchestra music in the background. It was awkward, yet unspoken words were conveyed to one another.

"So... do you want another Éclair?"

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><p>It was like time had frozen. It was like the people froze, the place froze and everything else. It was like time had slowed down and became favorable to Logan and probably his strange companion too, who was laughing like he couldn't laugh anymore. Logan smiled, his greek god was an eccentric one.<p>

"I cannot believe you said that," he laughed. The taller man's cheeks flushed light pink, then he laughed as well.

"I didn't know what I was thinking, but before I knew it, I made it to the production," he said, scratching the back of his neck in a sort of nervous gesture. Logan laughed again and it was hearty and crinkly, raspy and raw. It was almost refreshing. They smiled at each other for a while.

"Hey, I... don't know your name yet," the dancer said. The artist raised his eyebrows in response.

"Well, I'm-"

"Logan, we gotta go."

His voice cut through the air like a gunshot in still air. The tone was urgent, concerned, with a tinge of apology. Logan turned around to see Kendall bearing a worried expression. His eyebrows knit with concern.

"What's wrong?" he questioned. Kendall just shook his head.

"I'll explain on the way back," he said with urgency. Bottle green eyes flitted towards the companion of Logan's, and the artist swore that they were staring down each other, given the scrutinizing expression on his face.

"Okay... you're still giving me that ride, right?" Logan replied, to which Kendall nodded minutely. He looked back at his companion.

"I'll see you... around," he offered but the taller man's lips twitched, like he did not know whether or not to smile. He raised a hand in goodbye and waved a little. Logan offered a small smile in return for a split second but Kendall pulled at his arm.

"Come on, Katie is getting pissed," his friend urged, dragging him away from the scene, from the VIP area and from the man he just met. He attempted to look back, but the scene was blocked by other guests. He inwardly sighed.

The artist hoped that he would see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE!

Your reviews are so heart-warming I could cry! Well. No. Not really but they warm my heart. Thank you.

Warnings: This is Jagan. Which means it is slash. Male on male. Gay romance. If you do not like Jagan, or slash in general, please leave.

Another Author's Note: This is like a repeat of the first chapter. I'm not quite happy with it, seeing as it is a repeat of the first chapter, but it's important nevertheless.

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush. I only own my ideas and some other characters I created out of my own imagination.

And I introduce two characters! Wee!

This is dedicated to RedVelvetRusher (Twitter) because if it wasn't for her and her curiosity/urge/push/inspiration/help/all of the above, I wouldn't have published this. Love ya, Jade!

_Constructive criticism will be accepted wholeheartedly._

Enjoy. :)

* * *

><p>James was in an elevator. His afternoon was not panned as he had expected it to be, but he was welcome to the deviation. He was supposedly scheduled to try on the new outfits for his next dance item but the supplier had changed the dates, giving a headache to Gustavo and an earache to the poor supplier. It was then that the plump man cancelled out and rescheduled for another day. The brunette, happy with the change of events, decided to drop by an art museum as a spontaneous place to be.<p>

He inwardly sighed. It had been two weeks since he had last seen that beautiful man's face. The man who bore the VIP pass. The man who liked Eclairs because of him. He smiled in memory, remembering the scandalized expression etched on his features when he put the dessert into his mouth. Ah, priceless. He kept hoping he would see him again, but as time ticked by, the flame of hope in his heart slowly gave way and turned into a blue fire, passive but still burning inside of him.

The dancer leaned back against the gold railing of the fanciful elevator, looking at his reflection in the mirror stuck to the walls. Hazel brown eyes sparkled against the lighting, with luscious hair that was long enough that covered his forehead and ears. Such hair would put a woman in a shampoo commercial to shame. He was clad in casual attire; a white V-neck that show off his collarbones and faded jeans with dr. martens. The light hum of the elevator then stopped, the mode of transportation coming to a halt as the doors slide open. James shrugged, sauntering into the second floor of one of Griffin's art museums.

He stopped, just stepping outside of the elevator for it to be moving again. He raised an eyebrow. When did so many people get into this part of the gallery? Most of them were women, some dragging the occasional boyfriend or husband who shared looks of uninterest and pain, to which James grinned in amusement. The dancer's eyes skimmed the whole place. White washed walls were decorated with canvases after canvases of paintings. They were adorned with bright colours, some mellow and distant and a table was set at the side, which offered light snacks to the guests. A sign on a stand showed the direction of where the auction of paintings would be held. Beyond the sign, though, a certain piece of painting caught his eye.

He found himself walking towards the artwork. His hazel eyes rolled over to the vast details and it was almost like he was getting into the painting itself. It was of a surrounding forest, darkened at the sides with a woman sitting on the middle of the clearing. Her hand was up in the air, reaching out to the moon above her, to which the moonlight somehow gave her life through her fingertips. The woman looked aged at her facial features, her other hand limp by her side, almost skeletal. James blinked at the amount of precision and detail of the surreal painting.

"Like it? That's my favourite."

The dancer whipped his head around and saw the source of his voice looking up to him. His eyes were twinkling with pride. His brown locks were geled up and his hands were in his pants pockets. A grey turtleneck sweater hugged his figure, although it was quite loose at the bottom. James cleared his throat and he felt a blush creeping. He hoped his roseaca was not acting up.

"Yeah, it's... beautiful," he said in awe, to which the young man lit up at. The man beside him looked familiar... he blinked, leaning forward to look at his face. The man in question leaned back instinctively.

"I saw you the other day, at the theatre," James said as he resumed his initial posture. The shorter man smiled knowingly in response.

"Oh yeah, you made me eat the eclairs, didn't you?" He said with a light laugh. James failed to resist smiling back at him despite feeling the embarrassment creep up to his cheeks.

"Yeah... Whose exhibition is this?" James inquired as he got closer to the gold plate, which adorned the title of the work, and the artist's name. "Salvation, by Logan Mitchell...," he trailed off.

"That's me," the young man confirmed. The dancer looked back and raised his eyebrows in slight shock. A young painter already having an exhibition... that's quite an accomplishment.

"Oh, no, not really, but thank you," Logan said with a nervous laugh. James then had realised he had said it out loud. He cleared his throat in habit.

"I'm James, James Diamond. I'm the solo dancer of the Rouque productions," he said a little too quickly, holding out his hand. Logan's eyes lit up at his self-introduction, and grinned at him.

"Well, it is my pleasure meeting you, James Diamond," he said politely, taking the hand in his and shaking it. They let go after a while, his softness lingering in its wake.

For a few moments, they seemed to be just content with admiring his painting. James stood in awe, a million different thoughts going through his mind. Then, James' mouth twitched.

"I really like this painting. It brings some sort of mellow tune to it, like my performance the other day," he said to no one in particular but he felt dark brown eyes staring at him, lingering onto his figure. "It's like... there's hope for the woman. Like, she finds salvation in the moon. Like she can be herself again.

"Art is a story to tell, in general, right? So I think as beautiful as this is, it seems sad," James finished, tapping his finger on his bottom lip as a habit when he thinks. Upon the realisation of his sudden blurt of thoughts, the dancer's cheeks were graced with embarrassment and the fear of feeling inferior.

Before he could inwardly berate himself however, his line of sight got blocked by the shorter man, who looked up at James with a glint of happiness in his eyes.

"That's a good interpretation. It's what the viewer sees for themselves, and... this is what you saw, for yourself," he finished, smiling up at the dancer. "I'll go now," he said before turning and walking away. A sudden urge came over the pretty boy, panic set in his system for a reason he had yet to know and he caught onto Logan's arm before being met with a confused expression.

"Would... would you like to have lunch with me?" he blurted, immediately regretting the decision at the brunette's eyes widening in response. Stupid James and his stupid mouth and stupid urge that he didn't know what it was about and stupid James stupid stupid stu -

"I... sure, why not?" Logan nodded, smiling that lopsided smile and James perked up. He tried not to look too gleeful at the acceptance.

"There's this diner downtown that has the best dishes ever," the dancer said enthusiastically, to which the other brunette smiled at.

Before he could continue, however, there was a series of dull thuds against the cover of a microphone, which had gotten everyone's attention. James and Logan looked around for the source, and saw a rather tall man in a white shirt, blazer and black pants who was holding the item that caused the disruption.

"The auction will begin in about five minutes. Please enjoy the exhibition and the light snacks in the meantime," he spoke politely, and James narrowed his eyes to slits when they locked gazes. The announcer smirked at his direction, then winked at the painter before walking off into the room where the auction would be held at.

Jett Stetson. Grrrr. That bastard.

"So," James snapped back to reality and turned to Logan. "We have some time to kill."

"O-oh, yeah," he grinned, eyeing the table full of snacks, "come, let's eat." James pulled Logan by his wrist, vaguely hearing his protests and stopping in front of the table, which was currently surrounded by a few people.

"I-I don't... I'm not hungr-" Logan was shushed by a finger on his lips, and the dancer smiled at the slightly flushed cheeks. He quickly pushed a small cookie in the painter's mouth, finger lingering on his lips as Logan kept on staring at him while chewing the sweet.

The reenactment of the scene at the VIP area made James want to touch Logan's lips more. Or feel what it's like against his, soft and plump and little bites running along the lower lip and...

Stop, James. Just stop. Stupid James and stupid mind. Stupid, stupid, stu-

"Logan!"

A dark-skinned woman came into view, and James quickly withdrew his hand as though Logan's lips were on fire. She nodded politely in James' direction, who did the same. She faced the shorter brunette.

"We need to go. The auction is starting now," she said firmly. Her tone was clear and medium for an average woman and Logan slowly nodded. He turned to the dancer and shot him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, catch you later?" he offered. James tried not to look too hopeful at the chance of seeing him again so he just nodded. He smiled his best smile, and turned to the opposite direction, where the elevator doors were. However, as much as he wanted to give Logan space, he was interested in the auction - only slightly. The dancer turned swiftly, stopping on his feet like a professional - uh, duh, he was professional, and attempted to look casual as he strode into the room where the auction was held.

As he entered the rectangular space, he was met with a few rows of chairs placed neatly in a few lines - probably for the auction people thingies, James mused. He stayed near the wall, careful so as to not obstruct any pathway. Two rows were already taken up and occupied, by a few men in business suits and middle aged women who wore fanciful dresses and hats. James felt as though he was a peasant in the room. Hazel eyes narrowed towards the focal point of the small room, a particular painting that was covered by a layer of cloth, propped up by an easal stand. His curiosity increased as the people gathered, either taking seats or standing by the walls. A microphone stand was a few feet in front of the covered easel, and James put on a hardened expression when he saw Jett take the mini stage.

"Attention, attention. The auction is about to start. As the representative of the Griffin Musuems, I am pleased to announce that we have this rare piece of painting that will astound all of you," his sickly sweet and smooth voice flowed through the speakers and James clenched his fists when he noticed Jett eyeing Logan - who was standing at the side, in a conversation with the same woman.

The young man strode over to the covered easel. "This is a painting entitled, 'Going Home' by late Ryan Mitchell, as you can see..."

James no longer listened to what Jett was saying and instead his eyes were on Logan, whose expression gradually changed from neutral to shocked. He looked like he was becoming angry, proceeding to stomp towards the mini stage, only to get held off by the woman. James slowly raised his eyebrows in surprise.

He then realised that the people in the room, specifically the occupants of the seats, were whispering among themselves in excitement and curiosity. Jett smirked like he was victorious, like he had achieved the given response. What in the world...

"Behold, 'Going Home'," Jett announced, his hand bunching around the fabric, and he pulled, revealing the contents of the painting. It showed a watercolour, surprisingly toned down in contrast to Logan's type of painting, and it was simple enough that it did convey the message of 'Going Home'. The chatter soon became murmurs of gossip. Logan's face was beet red, obviously angry and the painter stormed off as soon as the first person placed their price.

James watched Logan stomp off with a raised eyebrow and a growing curiosity. He then looked at Jett, who had the most douchey look ever. It was the best that James could describe him. The bastard.

On the other hand, the angry expression on the artist disturbed him.

* * *

><p>"I totally ruined it!" James groaned. He held his head in his hands, temporarily messing up the luscious locks of hair. He pouted at his companion. One that was bubbly, carefree and happy, the Latino smiled in his direction and plopped on the seat across from the dancer.<p>

"At least you were being yourself," he quipped, wiping his hands in the apron on his lap. James shot him an incredulous look.

"I made him eat Eclairs!" He threw his hands up in the air dramatically.

"And," Carlos wagged a finger at him, "he didn't deny them. You don't even know him yet."

"Yet," the dancer pointed at him for emphasis. His eyes widened and his perfectly arched eyebrows were raised. Carlos laughed in response.

"Don't worry man, he'll be in your arms in no time," he joked. James turned away uncomfortably.

"I don't know, dude... He's so... you know, intense," he trailed off, looking up at the ceiling light from under his lashes. Carlos quirked an eyebrow.

"Intense? Dude, did you get _laid_?"

Halfway through his drink, James almost did a spittake.

"No! I didn't mean that! I meant... intense... like... ugh, never mind," he groaned. The Latino's shoulders shook with laughter.

"Not funny!" James retorted. Carlos laughed harder.

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, ignoring his glare. "Anyway...," he propped his head on his palm. "An artist?"

"Yeah... his paintings are so... intense," he quickly looked at Carlos and saw that he was fighting the urge to laugh.

"... Carlos..." he warned. He put up his hands in mock surrender.

"I did nothing," he defended. James groaned again.

"Am I a hopeless romantic?" he asked. He rested his head on the table.

"Nope... just unlucky," he said almost immediately. Another glare was shot in his direction. "Okay, relax. I was kidding. I'll eventually meet this Eclair man you're talking about, right?"

"Not if you keep teasing me, knucklehead," he grumbled.

"One way or another, James, one way or another," Carlos smiled. He turned and looked at the counter. "My break's over, man. Talk to you later."

James nodded in response as the shorter man took his leave. He sighed. Worry seeped into his system, like persistent prodding on his cheek. Whatever it was, he hoped that Logan was okay. He hoped he would know why as well.


End file.
